She carries her sleeping daughter in her arms, steps over the threshold and shuts the door.
Already she's aware of the silence, of the conversations never had, words never spoken. Aware of all the moments he will miss, all the moments she will miss him. They will miss him.
She's aware of the Maes-shaped hole in their lives and already knows it's a hole she can never fill.
Fighting back the tears, she holds her daughter to her desperately (like she would go away, just like him) and whispers into her blonde curls, "It's just you and me now, Elysia."